The Adventure of the Dubious Fiancé
by Gaia1
Summary: Holmes and Watson are confronted with a case that seems at first mundane, but turns out to have surprising twists.
1. The Adventure of the Dubious Fiance

It was a rather cool, wet day in the autumn of 1882. My past time spent in India had made me more adapted for the heat than the cold, so on this particular morning I was huddled with a blanket and the paper in front of the hearth fire. Holmes was in his room. He had been up the whole night before working on some complicated experiments with the purpose of discovering the most effecting way to obtain samples of fingerprints. The occasional tinkle of glass or step of a foot was all I had heard from his room since eleven o-clock the previous evening. Therefore, it came as a great shock to me when he suddenly came bursting out of his chamber.  
"Watson, do be a good fellow and ring for Mrs. Hudson to bring me some breakfast. I really am famished," Holmes cried. I had not lived with Holmes for very long at this point, so I was still getting used to his odd habits and eccentricities. However, even with this little knowledge of him I could see that his work had gone well. The sparkling eyes and taut lips were a large contrast from Holmes' slack, dull demeanor when he was not engaged with a project. Holmes was too often idle in his early days of practice, and this fact made him turn often to the dreaded seven percent solution, despite my many warnings against the evils of cocaine.  
As it happened, Holmes was about to be engaged in a fascinating case that would leave him no time for such idle pursuits. He was just finishing breakfast when a calling card was brought up by a page, reading,  
  
Mrs. John Cadge  
  
Seamstress  
  
Fine Dress for Ladies and Men  
  
Almost at once, we heard the steps of the lady in question coming quickly up the stairs. Holmes answered the knock, and a second later, Mrs. John Cadge stood in our parlor. She was a large woman, late middle age, with grizzled and graying brown hair done up in a severe bun. The hair framed an intelligent yet careworn face, with a sharp nose and rather squinty eyes. Her dress was done in a popular style, but was made with cheap cloth. That fact, as well as the battered and stained handbag she carried, was evidence to this woman's apparent poverty. Aside from these observations , the woman seemed to me to be much like any other lower middle-class working woman residing in London. However, when I looked at Holmes, he was observing her as keenly as if she had been a famous painting.  
  
"Madame," said Holmes politely, bowing slightly, "I am Mr. Sherlock Holmes. May I ask what your business is with me?"  
"You are the private detective, are you not?" the woman asked sharply. " I have come to you to engage your help in a delicate matter. Will you take the job?"  
"Perhaps, Mrs. John Cadge, you will allow me to give you an answer to that question after I have heard the circumstances of the case. Pray tell me, and my trustworthy confederate Dr. Watson here, your story. You may omit the obvious facts, however, that your husband was a druggist, and also that he died within the past three years."  
"Mr. Holmes!" the lady exclaimed. "How on earth did you know about my John?"  
"It is a simple matter," Holmes replied, "Hardly worthy of your astonishment. The first fact was gathered by a close examination of your handbag. One can observe a queer orange stain on the bottom of it, a stain that is characteristic of alpha-hydro amine, a common ingredient in many tonics and pills. In order for you to be in contact with the substance in its unprocessed form would require someone close to you to be a druggist, obviously the most likely being your husband. As to this man's unfortunate death, I examined your black gloves, which are rather imperfectly sewn. Compared to the impeccable stitching on your dress, and the fact that you are a seamstress, I surmise that the gloves were sewn in a time of deep distraction or mourning. As the gloves are still fairly new looking, they cannot be more that three years old. Add this to the fact that you have no recent chemical stains on any of your possessions, and I come to the conjecture that your husband has died fairly recently. Now, may we please get past these trivialities, and proceed with the story."  
Mrs. Cadge looked fairly put out by this long and impatient speech. She glanced around nervously, a reaction often shown when Holmes demonstrated his incredible powers. However, she lifted her head resolutely, and began to relate the reason she had come.  
"All that you say is true, Mr. Holmes. When John died, he left me with three children to support. It is about the oldest of these, Etta, which I have come to you today.  
I did not want to go to the police, because all I have are small suspicions and vague clues, and I probably would be laughed out of the station. But there are so many small things, Mr. Holmes; small things that make me suspect he is a rat. But I am getting ahead of myself. Let me relate my story to you from beginning to end."  
At this point, the lady sat up and rummaged through her large handbag, apparently looking for something connected with the case at hand. This break in the dialogue gave me a chance to observe my companion. So far, there had been nothing in the ladies words to excite the smallest flicker of his interest. However, this would change as the lady drew a small, formal photographic portrait out of her bag depicting a handsome young couple.  
The woman pointed to the small, dark young woman on the right.  
"This is the daughter that I mentioned to you earlier, Etta. She is only nineteen years old, and I fear that she is being led astray. The man in the picture is her fiancé. As you can see, he is very handsome, and I am afraid that this fact, combined with his charm, is deceiving Etta to his character."  
Mrs. Cadge handed the picture over to Holmes, and I could see over his shoulder the blond, clean-shaven fiancé. He was indeed handsome and well groomed, and I could see how he could be very charming. Holmes handed the picture back and bid the lady to continue with her story.  
"The man's name is Mr. Henry MacLean, and he is a rising young barrister in London's courts. He has no lack of money, and on the surface he seems to be the perfect match for my Etta. At first, I greatly encouraged the engagement. However, as I got to know Mr. MacLean better through his many visits to our modest house, I began to have my doubts about his character.  
My first suspicionswas aroused fairly soon after Etta met Mr. MacLean. 


	2. The Case Begins

I love Sherlock Holmes, but I don't pretend to be an expert. Still, I hope this story makes for an interesting read. Thanks to the people who reviewed my first chapter.  
  
Chapter Two  
A Surprising Event  
  
"My first suspicions were aroused soon after the couple began courting, about one year ago." Mrs. Cadge continued. "One evening Mr. MacLean came to pick up Etta in order to attend the theater. As he removed his jacket, his sleeve was caught, exposing part of his forearm. I noticed a strange marking tattooed onto the skin near the elbow. It looked rather like a crude ribbon or rope drawn into a knot. It was a very strange image, and I could not think where he could have gotten such a mark."  
"Did you inquire about it?" Holmes asked, rather languidly. Apparently, there had been little in the ladies narrative to excite his interest so far.  
"No, I did not, at least not at the time. A few moments after I saw the strange tattoo, my daughter came into the room, and the couple departed. I pondered the matter myself, because I could not father any reason for a respectable barrister to have such a dubious marking. Therefore, the next time I came into contact with him, a week later, I asked him about the strange image. To my surprise, he denied having such a tattoo. This served only to raise my suspicions against him, as I am absolutely sure I saw the knot. I have watched for it ever since then, but the man has been careful not to expose his arm.  
"That is my only concrete point, Mr. Holmes. There have been so many little things since then that have aroused qualms. Once, about two months ago, I asked him to do me the favor of drawing up a small legal document for me regarding my estate. He agreed to do it for me, but has kept making delays and excuses, and as of now I have receive no papers. These actions are suspicious in a barrister, a man who should have more than adequate legal knowledge.  
I can think of no other examples just now, save that he sometimes displays rather rude behavior or language. However, these incidences are few and far between, and have in no way dampened the affection of my daughter. However, they have served to make me come to the decision that I do not want Mr. MacLean as a son-in-law. I wish to engage you to find out Mr. MacLean's past, and to contrive some way to break the engagement."  
At the end of this hurried discourse, Holmes stood up, and as he paced to the window, he exclaimed, "I will freely admit that this case holds little interest for me. However, due to my empty coffers and bored mind, I will accept your case."  
The woman rose, thanked him and departed, after Holmes gave her a promise to begin his investigations the very next day. She gave him her home address, as well as that of Mr. MacLean, the lady's fiancé. After she had gone, Holmes returned to his room, emerging a few minutes later in the character of a working-class dandy.  
"I expect to be gone most of the day, Watson," he said as he opened the door. "I plan to pay a visit to this Mr. MacLean, a man of apparent ill character. Don't worry, I will tell you of my findings over a good dinner tonight."  
With that, he departed. I settled down with the morning pipe, and spent a relaxing day organizing my many papers. Around seven o'clock, Holmes returned. I had just received the evening paper, and was just preparing to read it when Holmes burst in, tired and bedraggled. The expression on his face led me to believe that he had had an unhelpful day. He had clearly found nothing. He collapsed into the opposite armchair and sighed.  
"Watson, old chap, this case is impossible. I met with the young man this morning, and he seemed to be a most decent and respectable chap, with a great love of his fiancée Etta Cadge. I spent the afternoon looking up his records at Scotland Yard, hospitals, any place I could think of. There was not one shred of incriminating evidence. If I don't find something out quickly, I am finished." He sat back it the chair with a sigh.  
Sympathizing with him, I glanced at the evening paper. There was a headline that completely caught my attention.  
"Holmes," I said, "This may be your chance to get more evidence. According to the paper, Etta Cadge has been kidnapped!" 


	3. Mr Holmes Investigates

Sorry I have taken so long to get this chapter up!  
  
Holmes sat bolt upright. "Etta Cadge? The daughter of our client?"  
"The very same," I said gloomily, "Here, I'll read you the article.  
  
"October 12, 1882. The top story today is the disappearance of a young lady named Etta Cadge, aged 19, from the East end of London. Apparently, the girl was last seen by her mother, who saw her step into a cab on Crewe Lane, at approximately 6 pm yesterday. According to her mother, Mrs. John Cadge, the girl had been on her way to visit fiancé, who lives across town, in West London. He was to take her to a local theatre production. When she did not return for over 10 hours, Mrs. Cadge became worried, and informed the police of the girl's disappearance. It was soon ascertained that the girl had vanished, and probably not of her own free will.  
Upon speaking with the girl's fiancé, Mr. Henry MacLean, Scotland Yard investigators became suspicious of his statement that neither the girl, nor the cab, had arrived at his house. Investigators were unable to locate the cab driver who had transported the girl. They know very little at this point, and only assume the girl was kidnapped because there are no personal items missing, and no note. Inquiries have been made to many of the girl's friends and relatives, and her fiancé, Mr. Henry MacLean, has failed, and Miss Cadge's whereabouts are still unknown. Any information that may be helpful in locating her should be immediately conveyed to Scotland Yard."  
  
I put down the paper and glanced at Holmes. He had leaned back, and was thoughtfully puffing on has pipe; sending great gusts of black smoke towards the ceiling.  
"So." he said, "The crime was committed at about 6 pm last night, so it probably was not investigated until this morning at least. That means that soon after I visited young Mr. MacLean, the police came and took him away. Odd that he didn't mention the girl's failure to show up last night."  
"Well, perhaps he didn't think it was of consequence. Or possibly he wasn't expecting her to come." "You agree with the police and think the girl's fiancé kidnapped her, Watson?" "Anything's possible. However, I was thinking more along the lines that maybe their evening was cancelled. Perhaps he received a message from someone whom he thought was Etta Cadge, saying she wouldn't be coming that night, but was actually the kidnapper." "Interesting thought Watson, but one mustn't make theories without first knowing all of the facts. In the morning, we will investigate the girl's disappearance. Until, then, try to put it out of your mind, old chap." Despite his calm words, I could see that Holmes was excited. A case that had been incredibly dull for him had suddenly put forth a spark of interest. Long after I went to bed that night, Holmes stayed up, smoking and mulling over the case. However, the next morning he was as energetic as ever, eager to get started on working out his mystery. At seven o'clock, when I stumbled blearily out of bed, I found Holmes had already finished his breakfast and left.  
I settled down to a leisurely breakfast, and spent the morning organizing my papers. At ten to one, Holmes appeared in the door, fresh- faced and full of energy. "Sorry to leave without you Watson, old man, but to recognize a day's potential one must begin as early as possible. I have had a rather unproductive morning, I'm afraid. I first want to visit the local cab companies, and according to each or them, none of their drivers had been dispatched to anywhere near Crewe Lane. However, these places usually keep rather shoddy records, and several establishments were closed, so I really don't know that that investigation gave any help at all. "I next visited the home of our lovely client, Mrs. Cadge. She is distraught, but answered my questions coolly enough. However, she was entirely unhelpful. Yes, she had seen the girl get into the cab. No, she had not heard from her since. No, she did not know why Mr. Cadge did not do anything when Etta failed to show up. She went o and on, but really did not say anything of use at all. I must she annoyed me to the point of infuriation. I was glad to get out of that house. And now, here I am, home to Baker Street for lunch." With this pronouncement, Mrs. Hall entered, carrying a plate heaped with food. As we ate, Holmes said to me, "After lunch, Watson, let's have a pop up to Scotland Yard, try to see Mr. MacLean, and hear his side of the matter. Who knows, we may hear something that will help us determine if he is truly guilty!"  
After lunch, we did indeed head towards Scotland Yard. Holmes was not nearly as well-known there then as he is today, but he had already gained the reputation of a private detective, and was usually allowed to see any criminal he wanted. That day we had no difficulty obtaining an audience with Mr. MacLean. As soon as we entered Mr. MacLean's cell he sprang up, a desperate look in his eyes. "Mr. Holmes! What are you doing here? Surely you do not condemn me like the rest of them!" "Certainly not!" my friend replied, "I am merely here to get the facts of a most unusual case. I am trying to locate my client's daughter, but at the same time trying to find out the truth. I do not denounce you without evidence! Surely you must think better of me than that. If you are innocent, you can only help your case by telling us everything you know. Perhaps one little detail might help locate your young lady!" "Well, Mr. Holmes, I'll tell you all that I know. I hope I can trust you. You see, there is something I did not tell the police." 


End file.
